Snape and Sensibility
by Wunder-Katze
Summary: Did you ever notice how many similarities there are between Colonel Brandon and Severus Snape? It's more than just a coincidence, and Snape is about to discover that for himself... (I took the serendipity of Alan Rickman's presence in Harry Potter and Sense & Sensibility and made it into a crossover. Not to mention the mutual presence of Trelawney, Umbridge, and others! Enjoy.)
1. Chapter One

**Hi, there! Welcome to Snape and Sensibility, where I take the coincidence of Alan Rickman's presence in Harry Potter and Sense & Sensibility and make it into a crossover. (Nearly the entire cast of S&S has ties to HP, which I also delve into.) **

**Anyway, if you like Harry Potter and stories by Jane Austen...you may just like this. I hope so. :)**

 **A quote of incentive from the man himself:**

 **"I love Jane Austen." ~Alan Rickman, The New York Times interview**

 **Read on! :)**

SNAPE AND SENSIBILITY

"Ah, Professor Snape," Trelawney squeaked in surprise. Her eyes widened, but the thick lenses of her glasses exaggerated the expression to the point of being comical.

Snape thought for a moment about refraining from rolling his own eyes. He decided it wasn't worth the effort, so his black orbs did a turn in their sockets.

"I hope this is as urgent as you say it is," Snape snapped.

"Very urgent. I have the Sight, you know," Trelawney said airily. Snape raised a satirical brow but the Divination teacher took no notice. "I've seen terrible things…and great things…in your future…" she said dreamily, gazing into the confined mists of her crystal ball.

Snape let his gaze linger on the stupid crystal ball for a moment before becoming rational again. Divination was nothing more than charlatanism. There was nothing to be seen in that cloudy sphere.

"I've told you before, as I am sure many of the other teachers have, I take no stock in Divination," Snape retorted, whirling to leave. "Now unless you have something really important to tell me, do _not_ bother me again."

"You thought I was going to tell you about You-Know-Who, or give information that would relate to him…something to do with The Chamber of Secrets, our current dilemma. Or perhaps even other such items. I see a name…Sirius Black? Could you possibly wish to know about him?" Trelawney said, still in her content, dream like state. "It is information of this nature you hoped to gain from me when I summoned you."

Snape stopped. He held his breath. _Divination is a fool's game. Occulumency. That's a thing of substance. She shall not read my thoughts. She cannot know…she cannot possibly…_

Snape did not say anything. He waited for Trelawney to continue, his back still to her.

"But I have seen something quite different. I have seen your death…"

"You see everybody's death."

"…and your rebirth."

"You saw Minerva's twice last week and she's still….My…what?" Snape turned round, his brows furrowed, his cloak billowing behind him.

He did not take stock in Divination but this was so ridiculous he had to hear it. He couldn't wait to joke about it with the staff! Then he remembered he didn't have any friends in the staff to joke with. He cleared his throat.

"What did you see?" he asked, smiling, his face failing horribly.

"Many things about you are clouded. Your omens are often contradictory," Trelawney said, passing a reverent hand over the crystal ball. She reached for a tea cup with the other hand and passed it to Snape.

"Everything in Divination in contradictory," he sneered.

"Ah, yes, but only if you do not have the Sight. But for those who have it, like me, Divination can be built up as an exact science by the reasoner," Trelawney said, her eyes bugging out as she tapped her frizzy head.

"That's a quote from a muggle story about a fake muggle detective called Sherlock Holmes. He was talking about deduction in religion, not Divination," Snape chastised, beginning to rise from the seat he had taken next to Trelawney.

"Muggles can be so wise sometimes," Trelawney said, not seeming to have really heard Snape.

Snape didn't reply but tried again to leave, setting down the dreg filled teacup. This was tedious. Trelawney just wanted an audience –any audience –for her pitiful fortune telling charade. But she grasped his arm with a firm hand and shoved him back into his seat. Severus Snape was all astonishment at the little woman's brute strength…and at her impertinence. He was about to blurt _ten points from…!_ before he realized she had no House. And that you couldn't take points from teachers.

"Because I have the Sight I was able to figure out that the two visions I had seen were _not_ a contradiction, but a rare phenomenon. Few wizards are _ever…have ever_ been granted with such a gift. The gift of rebirth…" she said.

"Go. On." Snape said. The coldness in his voice hurried her along.

"Well, I saw your imminent death in the crystal ball," she said. _All death is imminent_ , Snape thought. "But the next evening I saw you quite alive and well…you were with a young lady."

It was Snape's turn to widen his eyes. He bolted from his seat. _Lily._ He thought. _I'm going to see Lily. I always knew I'd see her in the afterlife…I knew it._

He was about to ask, "Was she disappointed in me?" when Trelawney continued as if nothing of significance had been said or occurred.

"But the strange thing was, that you and the young lady were dressed in Regency style clothing. Do you know what Regency is, Professor Snape?" Trelawney asked, blinking her bug-like eyes.

"I'm not a dunderhead like you," spat Snape. "Of course I know. It's a muggle term to denote the era during which there was a 'Prince Regent.' Early eighteen hundreds, I believe."

His mind drifted briefly to his own reign as the _Half-Blood Prince._

"Ooh, you do know many things, Professor Snape," Trelawney applauded in a most (unintentionally) condescending manner.

"As if there were ever any doubt," Snape muttered under his breath.

"I think I was there too, but not quite in my right state of mind," Trelawney continued, gazing at the currently empty ball.

"That's not a surprise," Snape murmured to himself.

"You see, I was dressed funnily too."

"Aren't you already?" Snape said, a bit louder, looking at Trelawney's paisley headscarf and fringy shawl.

"Very funny, Severus."

"Don't. Call. Me. Severus."

"Oh, don't be such a pussy willow. It's just a name."

"I don't want it worn out by the likes of you."

"Do you want to hear about your death and rebirth or not?"

Snape smoldered. Pah! As if this delay and runabout banter were _his_ fault?! Her insufferable tone was like fire upon the boiling petrol that was his temper. But he remained tight lipped, and motioned stiffly for her to go on. If there was any chance this was about Lily…

"As I said, it is very rare. There are hardly any accounts of rebirth but this must be one. For whatever reason you are being granted a second chance at a happier life. I must assume it will be happier, for you were smiling quite broadly with the young, blonde woman before you. You never smile here."

"Red haired woman. You mean red hair," Snape blurted.

"Oh, have a preference, do you? I didn't even know you looked at women, Severus Snape. Your nose is always in a cauldron, brewing up some potion."

"Shut up."

And with that Snape walked away. Trelawney did not try to stop him this time.

He kept thinking about her words.

"You were smiling with a young, blonde woman…you were happy…"

How could he be happy if he wasn't with Lily Evans? And if he couldn't be with Lily Evans how could he possibly betray her memory by loving another? No, Lily had never loved him in _that_ way, but that didn't matter. She had been his friend –his _only friend._ And _he_ had come to love _her_ in that special way _._ It was not Lily's memory that bound him so, but his own loyalty, his own code…his own pitiful denial that she was really gone and never coming back.

He blinked. He wiped his face. It was only the sun in his eyes.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	2. Chapter Two

That was in the middle of Harry Potter's second year. Snape hated how his calendar revolved around Harry Potter, but it did. It was much easier for him to remember "Potter's fifth year" than 19hundredandwhatever. Even before Harry's time at Hogwarts, every date revolved around the Potters. James Potter's seventh year. The anniversary of James Potter becoming Quidditch champion. The anniversary of Lily Evans becoming Lily Potter. The day Lily and James both…

But that didn't matter now. It was Harry Potter's seventh year. Or would've been had Voldemort not returned. Harry had fled the school but now he was back. Now he was in the Shrieking Shack, Snape in his arms.

Snape gasped. He could feel the heat of blood on his neck. His own blood. He was dying, and he had had no chance to explain himself. There was information vital to Harry –Lily's son –he needed to know he, Harry Potter himself, was the last horcrux.

Severus Snape released his mind, letting his memories pour forth from him. He decided to give Harry _all_ of them. Even his most precious ones. His memories of Lily.

The Granger girl handed Harry a flask and Harry collected the memories, floating and tumbling in the air, liquid vapor like the northern lights. Snape, his vision going blurry, was able to make out the expression on Harry's face. There was confusion, but also a wave of trust and perhaps even forgiveness. The boy realized his tormentor, his hated professor, was more than just that.

"Look at me…" Snape begged, his voice gurgling, his breath strangled. _Look at me with Lily's eyes…beautiful green eyes that once looked on me in friendship…_

Snape was suddenly looking into a pair of beautiful brown eyes and they accompanied a woman who was singing gracefully behind a pianoforte. He felt stricken.

"Weep you no more sad fountains…" she sang.

Had he felt sad just now? He couldn't be sure. Whatever was there to be sad about with such beautiful music in the air?

Then another person caught his eye. She looked familiar. But he couldn't place her. In fact…he was having trouble placing many things.

"Ah, Colonel Brandon!" said the merry voice of John Middleton.

Of _course_ he was Colonel Brandon. The singing had been so delightful he had completely forgotten himself. The woman had bewitched him body and soul…sort of like magic, he half smiled, not really believing in such a thing.

"Sir John," he said, shaking the man's hand confidently. Everything came melting back as the girl's song ended. His old regiment, fighting beside Sir John… though he felt he and Sir John went back even before those days…

"Allow me to introduce you to the new tenets of my cottage!" Sir John said excitedly. "Miss Elinor Dashwood, and at the piano, Miss Marianne Dashwood! The prettiest sisters you will ever meet, eh, Brandon?"

Brandon smiled obligingly in the direction of Marianne.

Everyone began to head outside. The weather was fine for a picnic in the front lawn and then a walk around the countryside. Brandon could hear Sir John's mother-in-law, Mrs. Jennings, whispering to Marianne and Elinor at the other end of the picnic table.

Mrs. Jennings was a large, gossipy lady. Brandon felt that he had seen her portrait somewhere, though he couldn't think who would wish to paint her likeness.

"Brandon's a good chap," she was saying. "A bit old, but he'd make either of you a fine husband. Though we all know Elinor has her eyes on the mysterious Mr. F!" here Mrs. Jennings paused to laugh without discretion. "And besides, I think the Colonel has eyes for you already, Miss Marianne! I'll have you married before Michaelmas!"

"Please, Mrs. Jennings, I don't think…" Marianne protested in a voice Brandon found sweet as honey.

"He _does_ have a bit of a past, mind," Mrs. Jennings said, her voice dropping low. Brandon pretended he couldn't hear them. He forced himself to try and converse with Sir John whilst listening further down the table.

"Twenty years ago Brandon loved a woman. She died having a born an illegitimate child, and no one knew who the father was. Out of his love for her Brandon took the daughter and raised it as his own. But the child is out of the house now, and Brandon is still young. A very eligible bachelor."

"I'm half his age," Marianne said impertinently.

Sir John's talk of hunting now drowned out the ensuing conversation beyond recognition, and Brandon felt obliged to pay his old friend more attention. Yet, he couldn't help but feel Mrs. Jennings had some of the details wrong, though he knew them all to be perfectly correct…

He shook his head as they arose and began their walk about the grounds, the servants clearing away the dishes and leftover foodstuffs. What had gotten into him today? There was no need to stir up old ghosts. There was only need to make new acquaintances and make them believe he was _not_ so very old.

Colonel Brandon walked a little bit faster.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	3. Chapter Three

"Confound Willoughby!" Brandon swore in the confines of his own home.

He had received the news just that morning that Marianne was under the weather with a sprained ankle. In a flurry he left the house, going straight to the nearby town to purchase the biggest, most beautiful bouquet he could find. There was one brimming with lilies that he found exceptionally beautiful. He had never felt one way or another about flowers before, but the lilies…spoke to him. He brought them to Marianne. He tried to tell himself she seemed appreciative…but then Willoughby came. And there was no denying the look in her eyes was one of deepest affection for him –a marked contrast with the civil look she had bestowed upon Brandon.

"Scoundrel!" he shouted, for Willoughby had left his ward, the child of his old love, in disgrace a year ago. Brandon hoped only for Marianne's sake that Willoughby had changed.

Yet, it seemed to Brandon that Willoughby stealing his love from him had happened before. But it couldn't have. The girl, Eliza, of many years past, had been poor, as he had been, so the marriage not allowed. It was _money_ that had kept them apart. It was need of money that had, after their forced separation, seen Eliza fall in with a bad man. How then could a rival suitor conjure the same feelings like a déjà vu? Brandon began to curse his faulty memory too.

"Maybe Marianne is right. Maybe I am old," he muttered.

Some months later, while on business in London regarding his ward, Brandon had occasion to see the Dashwoods again. Or at least, Elinor Dashwood.

He had been presented in the parlor a week ago, and at that time, Marianne seemed to be awaiting his arrival, positively glowing. Brandon wanted to reach out toward her radiant face…but the radiance turned to ice in an instance. She had been beaming for Willoughby. A Willoughby who was not coming back though she expected him to visit with every knock at the door or crunch of the carriage wheel in the street. She rushed past Brandon, brushing against him in her haste as she tried to escape his presence before a sob escaped her lips. Brandon closed his eyes, sighed, and fingered his lapel where Marianne's shoulder had graced it. He might never wash it again. He gave his regards to Elinor, shared a short, rather meaningless exchange to reemphasize their mutual presence in London, and went on his way.

It was not long after this that Willoughby showed his true colors, confirming Brandon's worst fears for Marianne. The scoundrel had not changed. He had dropped Marianne to go marry another woman for her fortune. Nevertheless, Brandon _was_ thankful Willoughby left Marianne only brokenhearted.

Once again, Brandon was knocking on the door of the Dashwood's London residence. He hoped it did not make Marianne jolt with false hope for Willoughby. He tried to speak loudly to the footman, to dispel any such notion as quickly as possible from the girl's head if she were listening in the parlor at the top of the stairs. As he suspected, it was Elinor who received him. She begged off for her sister, who was still in a state of shock and feeling rather sick.

"I…understand. You see, I know more of Willoughby than you imagine, and it has been the greatest displeasure of my life…"

Brandon had decided to tell Elinor everything he knew of Willoughby, and using her sisterly discretion she could pass the information to Marianne to ease the pain of Willoughby's loss.

"Thank you for telling me about Willoughby and your ward…I'm sure it will be a comfort to Marianne, in time," Elinor said.

"Thank you. I'm glad you understand my motives were not that of gossip," Brandon replied.

"No. It's obvious to me that you care about Marianne in a way she could only imagine Willoughby had. I have no doubt he really loved her –or thought he did. But his love was not like yours, Colonel. It was not worthy, I don't think, and it certainly would not have lasted when they found out how poor they both were."

Brandon dipped his head appreciatively.

"This will seem a strange question, Miss Dashwood, but did we ever meet _before_ the first time we were introduced?"

Elinor thought for a moment, tilting her pretty head. She absently picked up a snow globe from one of the parlor's shelves. "I'm not sure," she said, gazing at the ball. "It's possible, I suppose, for you seemed familiar to me also."

Suddenly the snowglobe began to glow and Elinor was speaking in a voice that was airy and dreamy and quite out of her control.

"Severus Snape," she said smiling, addressing the Colonel. She laughed. "It looks like my prophecy came true. I'd like to see Minerva's face now." She frowned. "Though I did not realize others would come too. Be careful of Umbridge. _Beware_ Umbridge. She is still a foul creature even if You-Know-Who is gone."

Colonel Brandon gave an involuntary shudder of dislike for this woman he did not know, or at least, remember.

Suddenly the globe showed an image of a sallow, black haired man whom Brandon realized was himself. He was brandishing a wand. There was an image of a castle. Elinor smiled at the castle, and whispered, "home."

Then, as soon as the phenomenon had started it stopped. The snowglobe was just a snowglobe.

"What was that?" Brandon asked, shaking.

"What was what?" inquired Elinor, setting down the globe and looking out the window as if Brandon had heard something in the streets below.

"What you just said," Brandon said.

"That is might be possible for us to have met before we were introduced at the Middleton's?"

"Oh," he said, flustered. "That's right. Nevermind. I best take my leave. Give my regards to Marianne. Tell her not to fret. There are others who have lived and survived with far worse stories of lost love."

Elinor nodded, confused, but thankful for the Colonel's visit.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	4. Chapter Four

Brandon marched down the streets. _Snape. Snape. Severus Snape_. The name turned over in his mind again and again with every step. _He_ was _Severus Snape_. But he was also Colonel Brandon. What had Elinor meant by prophecy? If he could just find out what that prophecy had been, maybe he could make sense of things. Perhaps this prophecy was responsible for his strange memories, memory lapses, and déjà vu?

Brandon stopped in his tracks. The snowglobe! What an idiot he was being! He needed that snowglobe! He marched back to the house where the Dashwoods were staying. Unfortunately the footman had taken up his position again at the door. Thinking quickly, Brandon said,

"I forgot my walking stick in the parlor."

The footman offered to get it, but Brandon insisted on getting it himself and shoved his way forward. Alone in the parlor he stuffed the snowglobe into his pocket. He realized belatedly he had no walking stick to take out with him. Like a flash he came up with another cunning lie.

"Miss Dashwood found my stick and already sent it on. Must have just missed the page," Brandon smiled to the footman.

The footman offered his condolences and hoped Brandon's stick would soon find its way back to him.

Brandon couldn't help feeling proud. Since when had he been so versed in the art of deception? And why did he feel proud for such an achievement? Maybe Severus Snape had the answer. Brandon felt the weight of the snowglobe in his pocket and was reassured.

As soon as he arrived at his own lodgings in London, and cloistered himself in his quarters, he snatched the globe from the folds of his coat. He set it carefully on his desk and stared at it. Nothing happened. He picked it up and held it close to his face, observing it like he was authenticating a rarity for auction. How had Elinor Dashwood set it off?

"Show me your secrets," he murmured.

It glimmered and showed the sallow, black haired man pointing a wand a piece of parchment. His words were garbled through the glass, but Brandon heard his own voice murmuring,

"Show me your secrets."

The parchment wrote upon itself, telling him that Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, think he should keep his abnormally large nose out of other people's business.

Brandon's eyebrows short toward his hairline. He ran his fingers over his aquiline nose. He crossed his eyes trying to look at it. Was it really that gargantuan? Was it his nose Marianne found unattractive?

"This is hardly helpful," Brandon said to the snowglobe. Though he knew, however offended he felt, it was helpful. It was memories –Snape's memories – _his_ memories.

The globe went dim.

"No, no, come back!" Brandon begged. It was no use. It was a snowglobe, and nothing more, once again.

Brandon ran over the information in his mind. He knew his name, his _other_ name, was Severus Snape. He knew Elinor Dashwood shared a past with him. He knew there was…magic involved. Yes, magic. What else could it be? He also knew that four someones, at the very least, did not like Severus Snape. Or his nose, at any rate.

But things did not come to a head until he met _Umbridge_...

TO BE CONTINUED...


	5. Chapter Five

Brandon and the Dashwood girls had been invited by the Palmer family to stay for lunch and dinner and overnight. The next day the Middletons would come down, and they could have the picnic Brandon had promised them before business had called him to London all those months ago.

Marianne looked pale, still refusing to eat enough in her grief over Willoughby.

"Here, dear, drink this," Mrs. Palmer said, handing her a glass of wine. Marianne sipped it thoughtfully, nodding her disembodied thanks.

The maid then poured glasses for everyone and they enjoyed a light lunch.

"I'm going walking," Marianne announced suddenly.

"It looks like it will rain," Elinor protested.

"It won't rain," Marianne said, heading out the door.

"Please excuse my sister," Elinor begged.

"It's all right. She's just fine," Brandon couldn't help saying with a tone of compassion.

Evening was beginning to settle over the countryside and a storm had moved in. Brandon was pacing back and forth, wondering where Marianne was. The rain was coming down in sheets, Brandon could hardly make out anything through the window panes. He kept looking all the same. He had always known it, but he admitted it to himself freely now –he loved Marianne. His concern for her wellbeing had not been waylaid by Willoughby…it never would be waylaid. Brandon thought back to his old love…murky in the shadows of his memory. His heart twinged. He still had feelings for Eliza –he always would. When Brandon decided to love someone, he would always love them. Unconditionally. Marianne was one of those people, whether she wanted to be or not.

 _I'll never speak to her again, if she doesn't wish me too. I know she doesn't like me. But I must see her out of this rain,_ he decided, striding to the coat rack in the hall of the Palmer's well furnished house.

Mrs. Palmer was standing in the doorway with a strange smile on her face.

"Going somewhere, Colonel?" she asked, smirking.

"The young Dashwood girl has been gone too long, I must search for her," he said, throwing on his billowing coat. As he buttoned its many buttons, his fingers tingled with familiarity.

"She knew very well it could rain," Mrs. Palmer said. "I see no reason for you to waste an evening on her. Besides, _Severus_ , you're going to entertain _me!_ " she added darkly.

Brandon's eyes widened. Suddenly Mrs. Palmer looked quite evil, standing there in her pink dress.

"I neither sing, nor play bridge, and though I play the pianoforte I think you would find my musical selections very dull. I would be little entertainment at dinner tonight. I am sorry to have made extra work for your servants, but I will gladly eat the leftovers later this evening so they do not feel too put out. And my Christian name is Christopher not Severus," he said, the whole while trying to edge toward the door and politely imply that Mrs. Palmer needed to move. She stood firm where she was, continuing to grin stupidly. "Now, if you'll excuse me," Brandon said more forcefully, reaching around her to open the door.

Suddenly he was choking. A wand was boring into his throat.

"Don't play dumb with me, Severus. The Potter boy may have brought down the Dark Lord, but I'm still here. It may be another dimension we've been transported too, but that's no reason not to exert one's power. I'll take You-Know-Who's place in the history books as the Dark Queen and my rule will begin with the death of _you! YOU TRAITOR TO THE DEATH EATERS!"_

Brandon was breathing hard, his hand on her wand, prizing it away from his throat when a servant entered the hall.

"Mrs. Palmer, ma'am?" the maid said meekly, her eyes bulging from her head at the scene of her dark mistress.

"Yes, Milly?" Mrs. Palmer asked, not moving except to turn her smile on the girl.

"Dinner is about to be served, ma'am," Milly curtsied.

"Very good, run along, I'll be there shortly," Mrs. Palmer said. Once Milly turned her back, Mrs. Palmer whipped her wand from Brandon's throat, pointed it at the maid and muttered, _obliviate!_

A pale glow emitted from the tip of the wand. The maid would remember her mistress's strange attack on a guest no more. Brandon watched, mesmerized. He winced as the rain sounded as if it had turned to hail. Marianne was still out there…

"You really don't remember who you are? Tut tut, Severus. You _and_ Trelawny must have suffered a blow to the head when transported here. Well, there's hardly any fun in killing you if you don't know why you're being killed. I want to see the regret in your eyes…" Mrs. Palmer, who by this time Brandon had worked out must be the 'Umbridge' he had been warned about, seemed to sense the presence of the snowglobe in his pocket.

Brandon had taken to carrying it with him constantly just in case it made a revelation at an inopportune time. He couldn't afford to miss it.

"Turn out your pocket," Umbridge demanded, as if he was a common school boy.

"You step aside. I'm going to find Marianne," he demanded. He grabbed her by her shoulders and shoved her aside –quite unforgiveable for a man to do in those days –but this was ridiculous. What threat did she and her little stick pose?

 _Crucio!_

Suddenly Colonel Brandon was brought to his knees, writhing in intense pain. His eyes welled up in tears, his fingers and limbs twisted at strange angles, his joints popping. He opened his mouth to scream but nothing came out.

Suddenly he was panting, catching his breath like a dog who's just been kicked in the ribs by his master and given a reprieve before the next blow.

"Turn out yours pocket," Umbridge smiled.

Brandon did so, the snowglobe rolling across the floor to her feet. She bent down and picked it up and tapped it with her wand. She tossed it back to him and suddenly, as he caught it, he was falling into it.

A word pulsed in the front of his mind.

 _Pensieve. The snowglobe was a disguised pensieve._

Suddenly he was reliving his old life in a flash. There was Hogwarts castle. He was being sorted into Slytherin House –known for cunning and greatness. He became a cruel minded professor, returning to his old school. His old love was Lily Evans, not Brandon's mysterious Eliza. She had been snatched from him by James Potter like Willoughby had snatched away his new love, Marianne. Harry Potter had been Lily's son whom he had sworn to protect –not a ward of Brandon's. Brandon's story was just an appropriate Regency parallel of Severus Snape's life!

Then…there was Voldemort. There was Snape, himself, playing double agent. There was Umbridge trying to take over Hogwarts. Cornelius Fudge –the Minister of Magic – _Sir John Middleton!_ The Minister of Magic was warped in time too?

Snape put a hand to his head as he was forced to wander willy nilly through flashes of jumbled memory. It was giving him a headache. He wondered if Umbridge was shaking the snowglobe pensieve, making him dizzy.

He could hear an airy voice telling him he would die and be reborn and live a happier life. The voice sounded like…but the memory shifted again.

Professor Trelawny – _Elinor Dashwood!_ –sobbing on the arm of Professor McGonagall as Umbridge fired her from Hogwarts.

He saw himself performing the killing curse. Dumbledore falling.

Madame Pomfrey, the nurse – _Mrs. Dashwood! Marianne's mother! –_ declaring him dead…

What about Marianne? Was Marianne from the magical world too? Snape scanned the faces for anyone else of Colonel Brandon's acquaintance. There was no one else. Marianne was completely of her own time. Snape felt farther away from her than ever. His heart panged for Lily.

Then suddenly he was back in front of Umbridge in the Palmer's House. She was laughing manically.

"Go find your Marianne. She'll never love you, Severus. You're the most unloveable person on this earth, as you'll remember now. And besides that –you'll never get over Lily Potter," she smirked. "When you return, more heartbroken than ever, in the most pain possible, I'll finish you. Then I'll finish Trelawny. Then Cornelius and I can do what we please without a witch or wizard to stop us!" she cackled.

"No," said Snape. "I don't think you will."

Umbridge glowered.

"Oh? And what is there to stop me?"

Colonel Brandon may have been Snape's parallel existence, but he had his own set of habits, and his own set of skills. As an army man he followed orders to the letter. Pull out your pocket meant pocket singular. As an old army man, he carried a small pistol on him at all times…in his undisturbed pocket. Before Umbridge could raise her wand again he had the gleaming gun aimed at her chest.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	6. Chapter Six

"Muggle weapons," Snape smirked. "Quite handy."

"Says the man who called his supposed true love a 'mudblood!'" Umbridge tried to laugh. Tried to upset him. Tried to stall.

"How dare you go through the memories of _mine_ that ended up in that pensieve!" Snape growled.

"You shouldn't have done so many things to be ashamed of," snorted Umbridge. "Are you going to add shooting me to the list?"

"I would be _proud_ of that," Snape retorted. He pulled the trigger. With expert aim the bullet just grazed Umbridge's hand. She dropped her wand instantly, blood spurting onto her pink dress.

Snape scooped up the wand. He had uttered the killing curse before. Uttered it against an old friend. It wouldn't be so hard to utter it now…not hard at all…

 _Oblivate!_

Umbridge, for all intents and purposes, was no more. She was just Mrs. Palmer who had jabbed herself with a sowing needle, Snape told her. She bustled off to bandage her bleeding hand.

Snape pocketed the wand. He was its master now. And he was glad for the fact –for if Sir John Middleton remembered he was Minister of Magic… he may need a memory wipe too.

Snape dashed out the door into the rolling thunder and pouring rain.

"Marianne!" he cried. "MARIANNE!"

He shouted it over and over until his throat was hoarse. He spurred himself onward over the rolling hills though his breath was coming raggedly. There he saw her, a tangled mess in the grass of the knoll overlooking Willoughby's manor. Marianne had walked these many miles on foot just to glimpse what her life might have been...

Snape scooped her into his arms. She was limp and delirious.

...

He paced outside her chamber door. The doctor said she had a terrible fever. He said…she was dying.

"NO!" Snape had cried when he heard the news.

He was filled with indignation. Lily Potter's death would haunt him –always. If Marianne Dashwood died…the one person who had brought him out of Lily's long shadow…

"Miss Dashwood," he said to Elinor as she emerged from her sister's chamber.

"Marianne is sleeping –restlessly, I'm afraid," Elinor said, looking very afraid.

"Give me an occupation or I should go mad!" Snape demanded.

"I think…it would be best if our mother was informed to come straightaway," Elinor said.

"Of course! Madame Pomfrey! How could I be so stupid! She knows everything about medicine!" Snape yelled, dashing off at once to mount his horse.

Elinor stood, confused. Trelawny, her other half, did not enlighten her. In fact, Trelawny now remained quite dormant, content to be Elinor Dashwood.

Snape rode hard and fast.

"If I hadn't let Umbridge hold me up, I would have gotten to Marianne sooner! Her death is going to be all my fault –just like Lily's!" he cried. Then he pulled back on the reins, making his stallion rear up. "No!" He thundered. "She isn't going to die!"

He slowed his horse to a trot. He needed to think. Did rain really cause deathly brain fever? Maybe –but Marianne had gone on rainy walks before. She had a strong constitution. This wouldn't put her at _death's_ door, maybe just the flu's.

"Think!" Snape shouted at himself.

Then he remembered. _Before_ Marianne left for her walk, Umbrigde –Mrs. Palmer –had personally presented Marianne with a glass of wine.

"'When you come back more broken hearted than ever…'" Snape repeated Umbridge's words. "She thought I would find Marianne already dead! Umbridge poisoned her!"

TO BE CONTINUED...


	7. Chapter Seven: The Last Chapter

Snape looked around wildly. He urged his memories as Potions Master to well up inside him. Surely one of these weeds growing on the side of the road was an herb he could use! Madame Pomfrey would know for certain any medicinal plants –but there wasn't time! It would be tomorrow by the time they returned to Marianne –and that was if they galloped full speed all night. Although Umbridge seemed to have accidently low-balled the dose (thank goodness Ministry officials did not take Potions NEWTS!) –it was still going to be deadly. Marianne did not have a day. She was already breathing on borrowed time.

Snape wheeled his horse around. There! Down the lane!

A little farm house and pen full of goats. Another word from his past came to mind.

 _Bezoar. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. Remember that, Mr. Potter…_

Snape spurred his stallion toward the farmhouse. He leapt over the fence of the goat pen and took out his wand. Another word flashed into his wand.

"I'm sorry, goat, but this is for Marianne," he murmured to the bleating animal.

 _Sectumsempra!_

After creating a series of lacerations Snape was able to extract a bezoar. He wrapped on the door of the farm house. With his non-bloodied hand he held out all the money he had in his pocket. The farmer's eyes widened.

"This is to pay for your goat and the services of your servant. A girl is dying at the Palmer residence down the road and her mother needs to be summoned at once. Tell your servant to fetch Mrs. Dashwood at once!"

The servant was called for and the Devonshire address scribbled down. The servant bolted off on one of the farmer's horses. Snape mounted his own horse.

"Sorry again about your goat," he called from his mount. "But this bezoar will probably save the girl's life!"

He galloped off, leaving the disheveled farmer to murmur, "What the hell is a bezoar?"

Back at the Palmers he rinsed the bezoar clean then barged into Marianne's chamber after knocking only once. Elinor and the doctor were taken aback. But Snape strode forward confidently, placing the bezoar tenderly in Marianne's mouth.

"Swallow this, please, Marianne," he asked, brushing her forehead with his long fingers.

She blinked deliriously up at Brandon but swallowed as she was told.

An hour later her fever broke. When Mrs. Dashwood finally arrived Elinor was crying with joy to report that Marianne was out of danger.

...

"You read beautifully, Colonel," said Marianne as he finished another Shakespeare poem.

"Thank you, Miss Dashwood," he replied.

"I still wish you'd tell me how you saved me. The doctor doesn't even know how you did it," she begged.

They were sitting in the lawn outside the Dashwood's cottage in Devonshire. Marianne was still recooperating and Snape had been faithfully checking in every day.

"When you love someone…you just do everything in your power to help them. I was just lucky that everything in my power was enough," he smiled.

Marianne smiled back. She threw a sheepish look up at the cottage, but thinking that her mother was not watching from the window just then, she put her hand on Snape's. Snape set the book of poetry on his knee to free up his hands. Their fingers intertwined and Snape smiled.

"Your fingers would look lovely on the keys of a pianoforte, but you do not possess one of your own, I fear?"

"No, I do not," Marianne laughed, for it seemed a singular thing to say when holding hands for the first time.

"Hmm," was all Snape said. "Well, I'm afraid I have businesss to attend to in town."

"Must you leave?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

"What are you doing in town?"

"It's a secret," Snape smiled. "Don't worry. I'll be back."

"I know you will be," Marianne smiled tenderly.

...

Snape was now sure of Marianne's affection for him. In the privacy of his manor, while just a few miles away Marianne was discovering Snape's business in town had been getting her a pianoforte, he was pulling out Umbridge's old wand.

He was certain Middleton would cause no trouble, as he had used _obliviate_ on him, before he even had a chance to recall he was Minister of Magic. Trelawney seemed completely to have forgotten of her own accord her old identity, happy as Elinor Dashwood and about to be engaged to Edward Ferrars.

Snape had debated for a long time with himself about telling Marianne about the world of magic. About his true past. About Lily.

But Marianne was so content as a muggle…so innocent and untouched by the cares Snape had endured. He did not want to change that. Marianne deserved someone who could keep her as happy and carefree as possible. Colonel Brandon could do that better than Severus Snape.

Snape lifted the wand to his head, and picturing his beloved Lily as his last thought, whispered,

 _Obliviate._

 _..._

Brandon and Marianne were in the parlor of the Dashwood cottage plinking out a duet on the pianoforte he had gotten for Marianne. Elinor and Edward Ferrars were roaming the grounds. Mrs. Dashwood and Margaret, the youngest Dashwood sister, were outside hanging up the wash. With a jolt, Brandon realized that he and Marianne were finally alone.

"Miss Dashwood," he said, as they finished a piece. "I have something to ask you."

She smiled. "What is it, Colonel?"

...

Their arms were linked as they stepped out of the church. Colonel Brandon had the widest of smiles on his face. He was the happiest man on earth. Marianne beamed up at him, and, unashamedly, in front of the crowd of family and friends their lips met.

For just a moment he was outside of himself, looking down at the scene, watching himself smiling and happy beside the blonde woman. A gust of wind blew the lilies that grew along the side of the road, and they waved, happy for him too. Colonel Brandon was convicted strongly about fate and destiny in that moment, for he felt as if some prophecy had just come true. Only when the stars were so perfectly aligned could a man be so completely happy as he.

THE END.


End file.
